No Wonder
by Blank Ned
Summary: Just a short fic I wrote about Vimes and the Twenty-Fifth of May. Set before Night Watch. My first fic, so please R&R.


**No Wonder**

This story is set just after the events of 'Jingo'. Our dear Vimesy has just been made a Duke, and the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May has come around again...

Disclaimer: Although I believe Terry Pratchett to be the nearest thing to a god ever to walk the Earth, I'm still waiting for the planning permission for the temple in the back garden, so until then this'll have to do. Most of the characters are Pterry's. Any that aren't are mine, all mine! Mwahahaha! Ahem...

Note: This is my first fic – be kind!

NO WONDER

Sir Samuel Vimes, newly created Duke of Ankh, walked out into the garden of Ramkin Hall in Scoone Avenue as the sun was rising. He had managed to spend the whole of last night in the same bed as his wife, for a change. He suspected Captain Carrot had had something to do with that, given that he knew something about today...

May 25th looked to be a glorious day, but Vimes wasn't concerned with that. For once, he had remembered. It was something he felt slightly proud about, and, at the same time, slightly shameful that he felt proud about remembering and that he had forgotten all those other years. He walked out and stopped under the lilac plant he had planted under the tree two years ago, and stared at the heavily scented blooms for a moment before reaching out and breaking a stem. It was one of the higher ones, where the lilac had started climbing the branches.

By next year, Vimes thought as he walked slowly back to the house, that tree'll rival the ones up in Small Gods. Ah, yes. Small Gods. He hadn't been there for years, not on the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May at least...

"Willikins!" he bawled as he entered the kitchen.

"Yes, sir?" said the butler, materialising from the scullery.

"Could you do something with this, please?" said Vimes, handing him the lilac flower.

"Something, sir?" said the butler nervously.

"Yes. Something. Something to... preserve it," said Vimes. "I want it to keep for most of today, you see."

"I shall see to it directly, sir," said the butler, shuffling off. Vimes made a mental note to explain the reasons to him later.

At nine o' clock sharp, Vimes walked in to Pseudopolis Yard. He hadn't meant to be in so late, but Sybil had insisted on talking to him about the reception for the Stoan ambassador that weekend. He hated having to talk about soirees and frilly tights and his 'responsibilities of class' – he shuddered to think that he could be associated with such a Rust-like phrase – when he kept dwelling on John Keel and the Glorious Republic of Treacle Mine Road.

Sybil had scolded him for not paying attention. Yet another one to have to explain things to, thought Vimes as he walked in a sort of daze up to his office. And Unwanted Informee #3 was sitting in front of his desk as he walked in.

Carrot stood up and saluted. "Morning, Mister Vimes!" he said cheerfully.

"What's so good about it?" Vimes growled, kicking the door shut.

Carrot's brow creased. Being brought up as a dwarf, and being honest by nature, he often had trouble with implication. "Did I say it was good?"

"No," said Vimes shortly, "but you implied it." He pulled out a cigar, lit it, and blew a smoke ring. "Beware of implication, lad," he said. "It'll get you into trouble one of these days."

Again, that big honest brow became furrowed. "When?"

"What?" Vimes felt suddenly unbalanced. "What are you on about, Carrot?"

"You said 'one of these days'," said Carrot, with the air of one exploring something that they don't fully understand and are waiting to see if they end up with gold coins or no fingers. "Which day?"

Vimes sighed. "Just forget it, Carrot, alright? Today is not the best day for me to deal with a dwarfish human." He picked up some papers from his desk absent-mindedly. "Now... is there anything important I should know today?"

"Err... not really, sir," said Carrot. "But you do realise, sir, that-"

"Never mind, Carrot!" yelled Vimes, heading for the door. "I have things to do, people to see... you know how it is."

"Do I?" said Carrot, perplexed once again by human speech, but Vimes was already slamming the door shut. He swung round the corner and almost walked right into a young constable walking along the corridor. Vimes stared at his face in vague semi-comprehension for a few moments – and, once again, felt the slight shame that now the Watch was so big that he had to think to remember people's names – before recognising Constable Edward Blankwall. And then the shame increased slightly, because Edward had been in the Watch for more than a year, and yet was still barely registered on Vimes' memory. He vaguely remembered the lad's name on the forms for the First of Foot, and he was pretty certain he'd seen him on guard duty when the Patrician had been poisoned, and he _must_ have spoken to him, because the interview forms were all there in his office, and he'd been recommended for corporal before now. The trouble was, he just couldn't recall any of it – at least, not clearly.

Edward smiled in what he thought was a disarming way, but which in fact made him look mildly like a poorly caricatured string puppet. "Er, Mister Vimes," he said in a wheedling tone, "I was just wondering-" his ears began to colour, and he stuttered slightly through what Vimes had come to recognise as nervousness at talking to 'the boss' "-Wh – why are you, er, wearing that, er, that, that, that, er, lilac flower?" he managed as Vimes stalked past him.

"No time to talk, Blankwall," he snapped, "I'm a busy man, you know..."

"But-"

Vimes spun round, staring into Edward's eyes, feeling something like the roar of a terrifying, powerful beast in his veins.

"I _said,_" he repeated menacingly, backing Edward into a wall, his breath clouding on the young man's breastplate, "that I am a _busy man._ I don't have time to answer stupid questions, understand?" Edward nodded mutely, mute through terror. "Good. Now get out of my sight," Vimes snarled.

As he stalked through the charge room, Vimes saw Corporal Ottersneeze (pronounced Ottersney – get it right, please), who'd joined just before Edward, and was, in Vimes' opinion, living proof that you _could_ have a hero called Chris. The man saluted as Vimes stormed past.

"Morning, sir-" he managed, before Vimes swept out of the door. Chris stared dumbfounded at the door, before turning and saying to the room at large:

"What's got into _him?_"

At the back, Sergeant Fred Colon and Corporal Nobby Nobbs, both wearing resplendent lilac blooms (or at least, resplendent by their personal standards, which in the case of Nobby meant that the flower looked as near as possible to turning brown without actually doing so), exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Something's up," said Edward, coming down the stairs. "He's just snapping at people for no reason! And all I did was ask him about the flower."

A loud _thunk_ made everyone turn round. Fred and Nobby's chairs had slammed onto all four legs simultaneously, and they were both staring at Edward.

"You did _what?_"

Edward was not exceptionally bright, but he felt he was able to take hints about things from people's tone of voice. "Er... was there something wrong with that?" he said timidly.

"Wrong? _Wrong?_" roared Colon, standing up and leaning forward with his knuckles on the desk. "I'll bet there was something wrong!"

"Calm down, Fred-" said Nobby.

"I mean, were _you_ there?" snarled Colon, ignoring him. "Did _you_ stand in the street and watch your friends die-"

"FRED!" yelled Nobby. "They're just kids! They need to know! It's not their fault they weren't there!"

"So? Suppose we tell 'em? What if they get into their heads to try and be heroes? You think they'd have wanted that?" Colon was still angry – it was visible smouldering behind his eyes. "Even if they could've been there, they shouldn't have been-"

"_I_ shouldn't have been there!" yelled Nobby. He stared Fred straight in the eye, and went on. "I shouldn't have been there, but kept along 'cos I was a twerp, and by rights I shouldn't have been here today." He swallowed. "But you know why I'm here, Fred. I say we tell 'em."

Fred sagged. "Alright. Go ahead, you start."

"Good man." Nobby stood up and cleared his throat. "Now, there-"

"Er... is it okay if we sit down?" said Corporal Angua, standing near the back.

"Wha'? Oh, alright," said Nobby. He waited for the noise to die down, and while Constable Visit went and dragged a chair out of the canteen, then began again.

After an hour, Carrot looked at his watch and said they should have been on patrol by now. No-one moved. After two hours, Edward found his legs had seized up. Still no-one moved (even if, in Edward's case, there wasn't much choice). After two and a half hours, Angua leaned over and whispered to Carrot.

"Carrot!"

"What?"

"What's Mister Vimes going to say when he finds us?"

* * *

The wind blew through the trees surrounding the Cemetery of Small Gods. Originally, there had been oak trees around the cemetery, but the actions of ruler, fire or the Ankh-Morpork atmosphere had brought changes, and the trees had changed variously to firs, maples, yews and cherry-blossoms, before the current decision to plant poplars. It didn't really make any difference – after a few years in Ankh-Morpork's air, those trees that didn't corrode fatally tended to become caked in soot, and produce fewer leaves.

He wandered over to where the lilacs provided a splash of colour in the boneyard, and removed his helmet. There were the usual signs – the wreath, the egg with the lilac ribbon, the slight disturbances in the earth that showed that Reg had been here before him – and, for once, he had it to himself. Usually he waited until nearer sunset before coming here, so he could reflect on those events on his own, but today he'd wandered up here early to experience it in a different environment.

He stared sadly at the graves, with their ancient wooden markers and more recent marble headstones and borders – almost the first (and just about the only) large expenditure he'd made since gaining access to the Ramkin accounts – and bent down to pull a few pieces of moss off the central marker – belonging to John Keel – then leaned against Ned Coates' headstone and lit a cigar.

Normally, when he came here, he'd close his eyes and try and remember what had happened all those years ago – seeing Keel get hit in the chest by that arrow, pitching forward over the top of the barricade, the governmental cavalry breaking the gates and charging into the Republic, the simple, cheap funeral of Keel, Nancyball, Wiglet, Dickins, Coates, Snouty and Reg – but today, he reflected on other things. Things like why Keel's marker was moss-less but the others were so overgrown that they were indecipherable, or why the wreath and the egg and the other paraphernalia was placed on Keel's grave and not the others, why it was Keel who was remembered before the others. He knew why, of course. It was because, if it hadn't been for Keel, Winder may well have remained in office. The city would have continued to fester. Most scarily of all – and it was a thought that chilled him to the bone – there may not be a City Watch today. There might still be the Unmentionables. He, Vimes, might well be...

No. This was no place to think about that, even if he was in a graveyard.

He made his way back to the yard. It'd been over three hours – nearly four – since he'd left. It should be almost deser-

He pushed the door open, and found nearly half his officers – Carrot, Angua, Detritus, Cheery, Visit, Edward, Chris, Fred – all seated, listening to Nobby telling a story. His thoughts skidded to a halt, and, in the brief moments before anger took over, he became aware of just what story Nobby was telling. It wasn't what he expected. Actually, he'd known that since the moment he'd walked in, because the Watch generally knew that if you heard one of Nobby's stories, you didn't want to hear another.

"WHAT THE HELL are ALL MY OFFICERS doing in the WATCH-HOUSE?" he bellowed. Then he looked around. Those officers that hadn't moved were either in the process of moving or rooted to the spot (or, in Edward's case, unable to move due to seized leg muscles). He pointed a shaking finger angrily towards Nobby.

"Corporal," he said, calmly as possible, "What the hell are you doing detaining all these officers from their duty?"

The quaking man glanced around for any means of escape, but Vimes seemed to be temporarily filling the immediate universe. He swallowed nervously.

"Er, well, sir, I was just tellin' 'em about..." his voice faltered, and his eyes drifted for a moment towards the lilac tied under Vimes' breastplate. It was no more than a moment, but Vimes didn't need anything else. He sat stock still for several seconds, before promptly exploding.

"You were telling them about... you were TELLING them?" he roared.

"Th-they need to know, sir!" quailed Nobby. "We can't jus' keep on tellin' 'em they weren't there!"

Vimes picked Nobby up and lifted him up to his face, giving the man a good look into his eyes, burning with anger. But, he thought to himself, the man was right. It wasn't fair on anyone – least of all Keel and the Watchmen – that they kept the secret to themselves, blaming others for matters outside their control.

"Alright," he said, lowering Nobby to the ground. "How far had you got, Corporal?"

"I was nearly finished, sir," said Nobby. "There wasn't anything really interesting left."

"Is that right, Fred?" Vimes said to Sergeant Colon.

"Just about, sir," replied Fred.

"In that case," said Vimes to the room in general, "Everyone – BACK ON PATROL!"

Edward caught up to Chris as the Watchmen emptied out of the room.

"What is it, Eddie?"

"Just a thought. Vimesy's looking a bit down, so there's something I could do later."

"Oh?" Chris felt intrigued. "Do tell..."

* * *

"Where are you taking us, Edward?"

"Just a moment..." Edward walked over the crest a hill not far from Ankh-Morpork, then stopped. "Here."

Vimes threw himself onto the grass. "So, why have you brought us here, Edward?"

"Just a moment." Edward glanced at his watch. "Where are Carrot and Angua?"

As if answering to Edward's call, Carrot and Angua appeared over the crest of the hill.

"Here they are," said Vimes. "_Now_ can you tell me why you've brought us out here?"

"Well, sir," said Edward, "You've been a little withdrawn today, so I had a word with Chris and Carrot and Angua and Nobby and Sergeant Colon, and I decided to show you something."

"What?"

"Watch."

They waited. After several minutes, Vimes asked again.

"What are we waiting for, Edward?"

"You'll see."

"Give me a clue."

"I thought you didn't like clues?"

"Careful, Edward," muttered Angua."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Now tell me where I'm supposed to be looking."

"The sky."

Vimes stared at the sky for several minutes. What did he see? Clouds, sky, birds...

The sun slipped a little further towards the horizon. The effects made the watchers inhale deeply.

No wonder, thought Vimes as he stared at the vision before him, that men used to talk of worlds up in the clouds. The fire of the setting sun turned grey bits of water and dust into the most awe-inspiring, beautiful panorama he had ever seen. No wonder poets and painters fell in love with the sun and the sky. The world in the clouds had rolling hills, shining rivers and broad valleys. It reminded him of those postcards that said 'Greetings from Llamedos!' (except, of course, without the rain). It was, in a way, heart-rending as well as almost the most beautiful thing Vimes had ever seen.

They stood on the hillside, watching the sunset, and the world seemed to enter a time-warp. Nothing moved in the world except for the sun, crawling slowly across the sky.

"Sir?" said Edward eventually. "We ought to be going..."

"Wha'?" said Vimes, shaking himself out of his trance. "How long have we been here?"

"More than half an hour, sir."

Vimes turned back to the sunset again. The patchwork colours had faded from the sky, and the sun was just a finger's width above the horizon now, hiding behind bars of cloud. Yet, with a little imagination and his memory, he could still see that sunset embedded on his eyelids and the memory of the sky.

How futile, thought Vimes, that men have died – that John Keel died – in pursuit of things like power or land.

If I had to die for a cause, I wouldn't mind dying so that my friends and family get to see that again, he thought. Nothing should be allowed to spoil that.

If he'd believed in it then, if he had any notion of the idea, then Vimes may have called that moment a perfect moment. In years to come, that was what he came to call it. It was an experience that seemed to last for just the briefest of moments, and yet after it had gone, it was still there, filling the senses, firing the imagination, gracing the world with its beauty...

"Sir?" said Edward again.

"Hmmm," said Vimes. "Let's go home, shall we?" And for the rest of my life, that'll be the memorial of the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May. The fact that, because of what John Keel showed me, I lived to see that.

They walked back to the city.

And the lilac scent flowed out into the night.

Well, whaddaya think? I may expand on some of the ideas here, if I get enough positive reviews – and I'm always looking for a chance to improve my writing, so don't hesitate to tell me where I'm going wrong.


End file.
